Arthur then leapt across the table to tackle Dustshore to the floor, kicking the pistol away. Dustshore hit his head on the stone floor of the kitchen, causing him to be dazed. This allowed Arthur to defeat him with only a small amount of wrestling about upon the floor. Taking his fist, he bashed Dustshore’s head so hard that the Earl lost consciousness.
“A rope, lass,” Arthur panted for a moment, having had the wind momentarily knocked out of him in the fight.
Cleo looked all around her but did not see anything resembling a rope. Dustshore began to stir, groaning, and Cleo’s heart began to thud in panic once more. Making a drastic decision, she stripped her dress off and rent it asunder. She tore the fabric into strips and handed them to Arthur to tie Dustshore’s hands and feet. It was a sacrifice, being the dress her father had given her, but she knew that he would understand.
“Are you hurt?”
Arthur shook his head. “Nae more than bruised, lass. I will be fine. We will need tae take Dustshore tae the constables to be arrested. Do ye think that ye can handle his maither alone?”
“I will go and speak with Aunt Caroline and Mrs. McGrath. They will help me with her,” Cleo reassured him. “Go and do what you must.”
“Aye,” Arthur nodded. “I love ye, lass. God has blessed me with a beautiful and rare woman.”
“Then hurry back.”
“Aye, upon that ye can depend. I will always return tae ye, my bonnie, always and forever.”
Epilogue
Later that night, Cleo lay in Arthur’s arms in her father’s study, staring up at the image of King Arthur upon the wall. She stared into his blue eyes, so much like that of her own Arthur. In truth, they could have been brothers. Both men were tall, strong, blond haired, with blue eyes, a sharp jawline, and an extraordinarily handsome countenance. “The resemblance truly is uncanny,” she murmured, lacing her fingers with Arthur’s.
“Aye? Ye think so?”
“I do. You could be related.”
Arthur chuckled. “Maybe we are, I dinnae ken. I dinnae think that the nose is right though,” he mused, cocking his head to the side. “Do ye nae think it is a bit o’ an odd shape considering the perfection of the rest o’ the artist’s work.”
“Perfection, eh?” Cleo chuckled.
“Nae, me,” he snorted. “The painting,” he gestured above them.
“Yes, it is a bit different now that you mention it. I never noticed it before.”
I might nae either if ye had nae been so adamant that we looked so much alike. I could nae have my wife falling in love with a painting over her husband.” He laughed at his own joke.
Cleo swatted at him and laughed. Standing, she walked over to the painting and studied the king’s face. The creases around his nose are not painted, they are cracks in the paint.”
“Truly?” Arthur arose to join her at the wall.
“Yes, see here.” She raised her hand to the king’s nose and ran her finger along the sides of it. “Definitely cracks. I hope that the wall is not compromised. I have rather gotten attached to him being here after everything that has happened.” She pushed on the wall at the bridge of the king’s nose to assure herself that the wall was not crumbling. Instead, there was a cracking sound, a rumbling and shifting of the wall, then King Arthur’s sword split in two across his torso, his hands moving away from each other exposing a hidden shelf in the wall.
“What in that name o’ all the saints is that?” Arthur asked, his face a mask of surprise.
Cleo stood there dazed staring at the silken bag within. She reached into the wall and pulled out the bag. She turned and laid it on her father’s desk and removed the bag’s contents. The silk fell away to reveal a golden case with the name of Guinevere etched into the side along with a Latin inscription. Cleo looked up at Arthur, who lifted the box to get a better look at the inscription.
“Cum nostris cordibus ambulamus sicut una super terram semel, cum pulchra virgo gloriosa elegit sibi nobilis miles potissimum mea Arthur reddet et adeo facere ingeri Nostro refusus pectori ejus simul invenire redemptionem; nam cum ea virtus quae non emo nostra salus.”
“What does it mean?”
“Loosely translated from Latin into English it says,
‘When our hearts walk as one upon the earth once more, when the fair maiden of the jewel chooses her noble knight above all others, my beloved Arthur will return and in so doing our souls shall together find redemption, for with her courage she will purchase our salvation.’”
“I still do not understand.”
“Nor do I,” Arthur shook his head, “but there is something about it, I can feel it.”
“Perhaps there is something inside that will shed further light upon the matter.” Cleo reached out and opened the golden case revealing an intricately carved wooden box. “It is just as Dustshore described.”
